Chapter 126: White Sands Arena
"You've returned already?" Dorian the Black Falcon asked, his voice laced with surprise as he looked at Bronn. "That was quick."
"Sir Lucien's orders were simple enough," Bronn replied. He still knew Ian only by that name, as did the other mercenaries, remaining ignorant of his true identity. "He only wanted the address of the arena where this Ander Poole is found, and what the common sellswords there think of his strength and standing. A task like that doesn't take long."
"Is that all?" Dorian asked, a hint of doubt in his tone. He hadn't read Ian's letter, as the envelope had been addressed specifically to Bronn.
"That's all. Sir Lucien doesn't want anyone to know we're investigating Poole. He's concerned about maintaining secrecy in this city." Bronn glanced around cautiously. "So I just pretended I was there to sign on as one of Suda Tetrus's proxy fighters and asked a few casual questions of the men nearby." He paused. "Speaking of which, how are we to get this news back to Sir Lucien?"
"He sent this letter by raven," Dorian answered.
"We don't have any bloody ravens," Bronn spat. "And even if we did, we don't know where he is!"
"That won't be a problem," Dorian said, gesturing with his chin toward the windowsill. A black raven was perched there, watching them with intelligent eyes. "It came back for the reply on its own."
"Huh." Bronn was momentarily stunned. "Can you truly train ravens to that degree?"
"Don't ask me," Dorian grunted. "I'm no maester."
"I don't care if you're a maester or not. The question is, can you write?"
"Of course. I spent a long time learning."
After leaving the residence of Dorian the Black Falcon, Ian, in his raven form, flew first back to Illyrio's manse. There, he had Rolle remove the reply from his leg and cast it into a furnace.
He had no need to read its contents. While waiting for Dorian to pen the message, he had already overheard everything he needed from Bronn's report.
The player known as Ser Ander Poole was currently stationed at an arena called the 'White Sands', located on Liberty Street in the lower city. It was a relic, one of the few secret fighting pits that had survived since Pentos was defeated by Braavos ninety-one years ago. Three years prior, it had become the property of the 'slave-trader' Magister, Cecito Morn.
The arena had been briefly shut down during the recent months when Pentos had outlawed slavery. But after Suda Tetrus officially declared his challenge to Prince Hazan, Magister Cecito had lent the grounds to Suda as a place to recruit proxy fighters for the coming conflict.
Ser Ander Poole, serving as Suda's personal guard, was one of the three designated assessors for the trials.
According to the rules, any registered mercenary who passed the preliminary bouts could challenge one of the three proxy fighters, Poole included. If they were victorious, they would take the defeated man's place, earning a temporary position as one of Suda's proxies and becoming a new assessor themselves. If they held that position until the formal contest began, they would officially represent Suda in the conflict.
The rewards were substantial. Suda offered a bounty of Pentoshi coins, equivalent to three hundred gold dragons, for merely securing a temporary spot. For those who went on to officially fight in his name, the prize was worth a thousand gold dragons. The promise of such wealth had drawn countless mercenaries to the city, though most came only to watch.
Few actually signed up. Suda was seeking true elites, and to enter the ring without sufficient skill was to court death.
They had been recruiting at the White Sands for half a month, and in that time, Ser Ander Poole had fought only four times. Yet those four bouts were enough to leave a profound impression on the mercenaries who witnessed them.
The words Bronn had heard used to describe Poole were precise: his swordsmanship was exquisite, his tactics were utterly foul, and his methods were brutally cruel.
Given that Suda Tetrus had deemed Poole worthy of fighting in his stead, Ian judged that this assessment was likely not an exaggeration. This player's combat effectiveness was extraordinarily high. He was, in all likelihood, the same type of player as the gold-cloaked man in Flea Bottom—one who was a formidable warrior in his previous life and had since hunted other players to augment his attributes, allowing him to wield power that defied the natural limits of this world.
Based on this, Ian decided he had to witness Poole's prowess for himself. He would observe a match in his raven form to gauge the man's true level and plan his next move accordingly.
Once Rolle had destroyed the letter, Ian took to the skies again, flying toward the lower city of Pentos.
He soon arrived at the arena known as the White Sands.
The hour of the bat was upon them, the sky rapidly darkening. A group of young nobles from the Volantene Party had already gathered in the VIP stand, settling in to watch the night's games unfold.
Ian wasted no time circling, landing directly on a stone pillar adjacent to the VIP box. From this vantage point, he could look down and see three fully armed warriors standing before the nobles. He presumed these were the three 'assessors' of the arena.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on the warrior standing on the far right. This, he suspected, was Ander Poole. Bronn had described him as a master swordsman, and he was the only one of the three who carried a sword. The other two were armed with an arakh and a long-handled axe.
A short while later, the games began.
Unfortunately for Ian, none of the three assessors entered the fighting pit. Judging by the long queue of men waiting their turn, the rest of the night's matches were still part of the 'preliminary rounds.'
His plan to observe Ser Ander thwarted, Ian was about to shift his attention elsewhere when he suddenly heard a name that made him freeze: 'Ambassador Olanto.'
Olanto was the Braavosi ambassador to Pentos and a man with close ties to the Iron Bank. In Ian's earliest strategies, Olanto was a crucial piece—a man he desperately needed to befriend to help the Dragon Queen secure Braavos as an ally when she eventually moved to abolish slavery in Slaver's Bay. But Illyrio had refused to arrange an introduction, and Ian had since found no other opportunity to approach the ambassador.
Now, hearing his name spoken, Ian immediately launched himself from the pillar, gliding down to land silently on the balcony railing of a private stand, closer to the source of the sound.
Only two men occupied the stand, sitting side-by-side and speaking in low, conspiratorial tones.
"Your plan worked," one of them said. "The Sealord's Palace has agreed to let the two water dancers represent us in the conflict… but I still don't understand it."
"I told you, Suda," the other man replied calmly. "The Sealord's Palace will not allow those Keyholders to claim the Prince's seat of Pentos for themselves. Marion wants his son, Hazan, to be a true king, and that would undoubtedly harm the interests of the Sealord and the other Keyholders."
"And for that, they would rather cooperate with us? With the Volantene Party?" Suda asked, still perplexed.
"Unless the Tiger Party takes power in Volantis—and they haven't won an election in centuries—our so-called party in Pentos will never be more than a trifle. The moment a purple fleet sails south, we would be crushed in minutes. Compared to minnows like us, the Sealord is far more concerned with his rivals in the Iron Bank growing too powerful. When it comes to interests of that magnitude, Suda, the lines between friend and foe are rarely so clear."
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